


Known

by dog_spartacus



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Consent Is Rad, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Doubt, F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Season/Series 08, Sex Is Fun, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 00:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dog_spartacus/pseuds/dog_spartacus
Summary: "This is too much for them. It's too intimate. She doesn't know what she expected—doesn't even remember, really, what she wanted—but it wasn't this, because this is entirely new. In fact, the familiar only makes it more foreign." S8 E/O PWP
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Kudos: 20





	Known

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Late Season 8, assuming Elliot's divorce took and Eli was never conceived
> 
> A/N: Oh man, I really didn't think I'd write another fic before 'Organized Crime' debuted because most of mine lately have been so heavily reunion-oriented, and I didn't want to write something that would just get proven wrong by their REAL reunion (two weeks, guys… TWO WEEKS!!!)… but then this weird little thought struck me the night before last, and it wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are: unabashed PWP set way back in Season 8.
> 
> As always, I appreciate all comments and feedback. I would be especially glad to hear whether you think the "Humor" genre tag fits or whether I should remove it.
> 
> And here, the obligatory disclaimer: These characters are so not mine.

"Known"

He pushes into her slowly, and her eyes fall closed. She loses awareness of the feel of the linen comforter under her back and arms and the soles of her feet as everything becomes about him. Her breathing is labored and shallow as she adjusts to him, as if she doesn't have enough room to take or expel a deep breath with him inside her. It's been a while since she's had anything new and large filling her like this, so maybe that's exactly what was happening. But if there was only room in her body for one thing, air or him, she's clearly made her choice.

Although he certainly savors the sensations of his slow pace—the growing pressure of her wet heat gently squeezing him tighter as he advances—he's actually doing it for her. He thinks he's being careful and polite, but he has no idea how torturous his incremental movement really is for her. He watches her closely from above, trying to read her features for signs of pain or discomfort or any signal to stop.

She gasps softly when he unwittingly passes the point beyond which no other man has ever reached, and above her, he is completely transfixed by her mouth. Then, with a slight tilt of his hips, he's all the way in. "Oh shit," she exhales softly, eyes still closed. For a moment, she just lies there, trying to catch her breath, focusing entirely on the way he feels inside her as her whole body moves with each ragged breath.

Above her, he has grown still, as if he has completely forgotten what they were doing. He is lost in reverie as he gazes down at her, and then he huffs in marvel. It is this small sound, on top of the fact that he is now motionless, that finally compels her to open her eyes again. She looks up and finds him grinning goofily at her.

Her brows knit for a flash, and she breathlessly asks, "What?"

He tries to hide his grin, but he just can't, so he sheepishly glances away—but it's hard to escape her when he's braced over her body like this, his pelvis quite literally pinning hers to the bed, and her searching eyes easily find his and implore an answer. "I, uh… I've never heard you swear before."

For a moment, everything freezes. She stares up at him in confusion as she tries to process his statement, his amusement, the absurdity of that revelation at this precise moment... and he stares down at her, scared to move until he can read her features again, scared that maybe he has totally ruined the moment…

When all of Olivia's processing attempts ultimately fail, the only thing she can do is laugh. " _What_!" she protests good-naturedly through her laughter.

But when she collects herself and looks up to Elliot again for an answer, his eyes are closed and he is not paying her one cent of attention. "Oh shit," he moans dramatically.

Olivia's jaw drops. "Are you _mocking_ me?" she asks with playful indignation, the back of one hand lightly slapping one of his biceps still flexed to hold him above her.

"Ahh," he chuckles awkwardly, ducking his head, "no. It's, uh… when you laughed, it… well, I've never, uh, _felt_ that before." He finally chances a look at her, and she sees that he's blushing. Elliot Stabler is hilt deep inside her, and he's legitimately _blushing_.

It's then that this moment starts becoming real for Olivia. She's had plenty of sex in her life, but she's never been with anyone who _talked_ to her during it—or, at least, no one who uttered anything other than compliments or commands or their own soft, appreciative curses. And she's had never had the impulse to talk to any of _them_ , either. But this was Elliot. Talking to him, bantering with him, was normal. The fact that he's blushing right now, however, only highlights that their current circumstances are anything but normal for them.

Her smile fades as that realization sinks in. He's so deep inside her, and has been for so long, that she knows it'll hurt like hell when he pulls out, but this is too much for them. It's too intimate. She doesn't know what she expected—doesn't even remember, really, what she _wanted_ —but it wasn't this, because this is entirely new. In fact, the familiar only makes it more foreign. Her pulse quickens, her mouth goes dry.

Above her, he sees the shift in her eyes, the way the mirth drains from them. Her upper lip quivers just slightly. He knows her well enough to know that she's holding back pure panic, but he's on the verge of panic himself because he doesn't know what changed, just that he's powerless to stop it.

She had been running her hands absently along the underside of her own spread thighs, but she moves them now to reach back towards her shoulders, where he is still bracing himself with his hands on either side of her. She grasps his arms gently but decisively. "Is this a mistake?" she asks nervously.

His eyes flicker—a blink without eyelids—and his mouth contracts into a soft _o_ as if he's about to speak, but he draws a careful breath instead. He wants to tell her no, of course, but his years in SVU have attuned him to warning signs and red flags and all the little phrases that really mean "stop now." He wants this, unquestionably, but not at her expense. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he pressured her into anything. He clears his throat and shifts his weight, trying to pull back from her. "Yeah, we can stop," he says tightly.

But she had been watching his face closely, too, and had seen how absolutely gutted he was at the suggestion that any of this might have reflected a lapse in judgment—and suddenly the thought of hurting him in this moment is infinitely more upsetting than whatever her previous uncertainty was. At the same time, she concedes that the difference between Elliot and the other guys is that the others didn't really _know_ her. The fact that he can read her well enough to recognize her terror demonstrates exactly how well he knows her, and it reminds her that tomorrow will be different if they keep going. Tomorrow and the next day and the next, and every single day after that, because not only will he be the one person who best knows her emotionally and psychologically and professionally and intellectually, but he will also be the one person who best knows her physically. And that's so, _so_ much to have on the line right now. But the fact that he's stopping when he clearly wants to continue is exactly what she loves about him. She trusts him. She trusts him emotionally and psychologically and professionally and intellectually—to the point where, if he had assured her that this wasn't a mistake, she would have believed him. Because, truthfully, she knows: It's not a mistake. She's just scared.

Although the thoughts are complex, the realization is instantaneous, and she tries to hold him in place. "Wait, no—" she says, but he's too quick and her angle is too awkward, and his wrists and his hands slide right through her grip as he lifts away from her.

He must not have heard her, because his retreat is one continuous motion, and as he sits back, he finally pulls out of her, too. It catches her totally by surprise, and the unexpected suction created by his sudden withdrawal is even more painful and more pleasurable than she had thought it might be. Her eyes screw closed involuntarily, and a guttural " _ohh fffuuuuuuuuuck_ " escapes her as he moves, as if dragged out by his dick itself.

"Really, Liv?" she hears him chuckle as she gasps for breath and tries to regain control of her senses.

She immediately understands what he means because that's just how well they know each other. Her head lolls to the side, and she peers up at him with eyes that still want to be closed. "What," she insists with a shake of her head, "I swear a lot! How have you never heard me?"

He smiles down at her, and his gaze is tender and affectionate and amused, but it's not the same as his irrepressible grin a few minutes ago. Her core literally aches from the physical loss of him, and now her gut twists as she reads defeat on his face. "I should go," he tells her, and it's clipped, tight. He tries to smile reassuringly at her, and he pats her left ankle twice, her foot still flat on the bed by his right knee, as if in farewell.

It's a little bit of a struggle for her to get up, but she has to. "El, wait," she says as she awkwardly pushes herself up, leaning back on her elbows. Her feet stay planted on the bed, her knees still jutting upward and her center wide open.

He smiles again and brings his shoulders up and forward. "It's okay," he assures her, and then he starts backing away toward the foot of the bed.

"No it's not," she tells him immediately. " _Wait_." He does, and they briefly lock eyes. "Can you come here?" she asks. "Please?" Confusion flashes across his face, and she can tell he's trying to avoid looking at her body, but he looks helplessly around as if he doesn't know what she expects him to do. She raises her left hand and motions him towards her.

He hesitates but eventually shuffles closer, warily looking her dead in the eye. She keeps motioning him closer until he's basically between her thighs again.

"It's _not_ a mistake," she tells him finally. She watches his eyes change again, and now he looks a little shellshocked, as if he doesn't understand what she's said. "I want this," she continues, shifting her position to reach her left hand up to his neck, her thumb stroking his rough jaw. "I promise. I want it." She's about to check that he still does, that her momentary doubt hadn't put him off forever, when she feels him descend.

His head drops all the way to hers, her left hand snaking around to the back of his head to encourage him, her fingers running through his short hair, and he kisses her. It's bold and sure and unrestrained, strong and wet and rough.

There's no suspending himself over her this time—they're completely chest to chest, and the way he covers her body is too much and not enough at the same time. His mouth moves off of hers and along her jaw, down to her neck. "Tell me it's not a mistake," she suddenly says.

He tenses immediately, and his head rears back. "You just said—"

"Just tell me," she persists.

He twists off of her and onto one elbow. He gazes down at her, reverent and awestruck, but unsure of the game she's playing at. His eyes flick across her features as he tenderly brushes her hair away from her face with his free hand. "It's not a mistake," he tells her solemnly.

She smiles softly because that really was all she needed to hear. Of course she'd already figured it out for herself, but when he says it, she believes him without reservation. "I know," she responds, then stretches up to kiss him again, pulling him back on top of her. When her mouth eventually moves off of his and over his jaw, she makes her way to his ear to wetly whisper, "Now how 'bout you make me swear again?"

He chuckles into the crook of her neck. "Love to." And with a slight shift of his hips, he's slowly pressing into her again.

_-fin-_


End file.
